The Ties That Bind
by kytheria
Summary: [COMPLETE] A cycle, once begun, can be broken... if one has the courage to do so.


**The Ties That Bind**

He was too thin, his eyes too adult to be peering out of the boyish face.

She'd been warned of the change.  That strange headmaster and one of the boy's professors had appeared on her doorstep just that morning to fill her in on the latest events.  Thankfully, Vernon had taken Dudley to Marge's for the day, so the visit, while still tense, wasn't unreasonably so.  She had stood in the living room, her arms wrapped tight around her, while the story unfolded.  The old man may have stuck to the facts, but she could still feel the terror rising in her breast as he described the events in the Ministry building.  She couldn't help but wonder- was this what Lily had lived with, those last few years?

She'd tried, all these years, to block out all thoughts of her beautiful sister.  Her beloved sister- at least, until the awful day that Hogwarts, witches, wizards, and unnatural magic had intruded into their lives.  She had reacted furiously, calling Lily a freak, shunning her, making her life a hell on earth until the first time she had disappeared here, at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ and every summer thereafter.  The truth was much more simplistic than that.  She had been jealous.  She could admit that now.  Perfect Lily, with her group of friends and great talent, her fairytale school and her separate life, had no time left for plain Petunia, and so Petunia had turned her back, severed the connection that had been so strong during their childhood, and struck out at her sister every chance she got.  And so the cycle was born.  She had shoved Lily away, right into the path of that Volti—Volder—well, whatever he called himself, and in doing so had killed her sister as surely as if she'd been the one to wield the wand.

She had thought that would be the end of it.  She had _wanted_ that to be the end of it, but then the boy arrived, with Lily's eyes and that horrible hair, and all those thoughts she had tried to suppress came racing back every time she had to look at him.  It was Lily all over again, and this time it was out of guilt rather than jealousy that Petunia struck.  It was unthinkable to take him aside and pour out the grief she hid so well, so she snapped and bullied and encouraged her son and husband to do the same.  And so the cycle continued, until she almost believed she hated the child, just as she'd convinced herself that she had hated his freakish mother.

It had been easy to hate him while he was away at school, when she didn't have to turn away from those green eyes, and it was easy to hate him when he returned home and she did.  But it hadn't been easy to hear that doddering old fool of a headmaster describe the things Harry had gone though the last few years, simply because he was the child of her dead sister.  She could only clutch at her body and listen in silence and imagine how frightened Lily would be, if she were the one receiving the report about her son rather than Petunia, who wasn't supposed to give a damn to begin with.

"He's lost a lot of weight," the headmaster had said gravely, his eyes piercing and stern, "and he's too quiet.  He's grieving for the death of his godfather."  He did not say, "He's grieving for the death of the only adult he's known who ever cared about him," but Petunia heard it nonetheless.  She nodded soundlessly.

"He looks bad," the other teacher added, her Scottish brogue quiet with admonishment, "and nothing we've done has helped.  He's withdrawing into himself, I fear, and we're at a loss on how to reach him.  I don't even know if it's possible, but someone must try."  The woman's tight expression made it clear that she didn't think much of Petunia, but she seemed determined to do her duty by the boy who was under her protection nine months out of the year.  Petunia had nodded again, and the two visitors had reluctantly taken their leave.

But even with the warnings she'd had, she was shocked to see how much the boy's appearance had changed.  Normally when he crossed the border from God-knows-where into King's Cross station, he looked slightly wary, but in good health.  This time, however, he looked… empty.  His eyes were bleak, dead even; as if he no longer found it in himself to care that he was in for a summer, or a lifetime, of hell.

Petunia debated inwardly on whether or not to go to the boy, when he caught sight of her and trudged over, pushing the cart with his trunk and that ridiculous owl cage.  He was trailed by several people who were somewhat familiar to her- a group of redheads of various ages and sex, and that bushy-haired girl with the seemingly normal parents.  They all took turns hugging the boy, who responded quietly to their concerned queries.  The plump redheaded woman especially fussed over him, straightening his shirt and smoothing down the ever-present cowlick of black hair that poked up from his crown.

Petunia watched all this impassively, saying nothing.  A tall, serious man with thinning hair separated himself from the group and approached her.  "Mrs. Dursley, I'm Arthur Weasley.  Do you remember me?"

She eyed him warily but said nothing.  He sighed and withdrew the hand he had offered.  "I just… Harry's had a very tough time lately and…"

"I know," she stated flatly.  "The headmaster came to see me this morning."

Mr. Weasley looked relieved.  "I want you to know that my wife and I love Harry like he's our own son, and we're worried about him.  I'd like to check in on him this summer to see how he's getting along."  Again, thought Petunia, so much was left unsaid, but she understood it just the same.  We want to know that he's getting decent meals.  We want to know that he's not being tormented.  We want to see him happy.

Petunia said nothing for several moments, but Arthur waited, his expression unreadable.  "During the week Mr. Dursley works from seven thirty until four, and Dudley is gone most afternoons.  I only ask that you ring first to check.  Er… you _can_ use a telephone, can't you?" she asked skeptically.

Arthur looked both relieved and gratified.  "Yes, I can, and I appreciate very much your agreeing to this."  He made to extend his hand again, thought better of it, and placed it in his pocket instead before turning back towards his family.  Unspoken again was the knowledge that he would have found a way to see Harry even without Petunia's permission.  She was strangely gratified to have been asked at all.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, waiting until he turned back to face her.  "If you wanted to bring your son along occasionally, that'd be okay too.  I think Harry would enjoy it."  She swept forward to collect her nephew so she would not have to see the surprise she knew would be etched on the man's face.

"Where's Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked quietly as she moved to his side.  "He's taken Dudley to Marge's for the day.  Are you ready?" she asked, her tone lacking the familiar bite.

The boy nodded and waved once more to the group that was hanging back, waiting for him to take his leave.  Rather than make him push his cart as she had in years past, Petunia took the handle and maneuvered it through the crowded station toward the car park.  Harry walked alongside her, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were alone in the world.  In a way, Petunia conceded, he was.

With the luggage loaded into the boot of the car and Hedwig's cage fastened safely in the back seat, Petunia drove towards Surrey, wondering all the while what to do about the silent wizard in the seat beside her.  She tried several times to initiate a conversation with him, only to be cut off by his monotone one or two word answers.  She had clothed, fed, and sheltered the boy for fifteen years but had no idea who he was…

…other than Lily's son.

Instead of turning down Privet Drive, Petunia continued on for a few blocks, pulling over once they'd reached a small park.  Harry looked at her suspiciously, but she motioned for him to exit the vehicle and follow her.  He did so in a resigned manner, and several minutes later they were standing in a secluded plot of trees that was divided by a small stream.  Harry leaned against a gnarled oak, his expression impassive, as he waited.

"Your mother…" Petunia's voice caught in her throat.  She swallowed and tried again.  "We grew up not far from here, about two miles away.  We played in this park as children, and this was Lily's spot.  She'd come here to write in her diary, or to be alone and think.  After she got her letter, she'd spend most of her summers here.  She told our mum that other than… other than _Hogwarts_… this was the only place she felt really at home."

She glanced at Harry, who was staring into nothingness over her shoulder.  Moving to the tree he leaned against, she pointed to something on the trunk.  "She did this on her first day back, after graduation."  He shifted slightly to see what she was referring to.  Burned deep within the old wood, was several letters- LE + JP.  The passage of time had not dulled the color of the burn.  It was clear that they had been carved with magic.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out and ran his fingers over the letters and the bark surrounding them.  Something inside him seemed to break, and instead of the shell Petunia had seen walk off the train platform, he became an adolescent boy once more, who had been through too much in his short life.  And for the first time in almost fifteen years, aunt and nephew met each others gaze without turning away.

Petunia nodded sharply and said, "Well, let's get back.  I've got a lot to do today."  They returned to the car and drove the short distance back to Privet Drive in silence.  Harry carried his things up to the small bedroom while Petunia started supper.  This time, there would be enough prepared to feed four.

And after that, it was time she and her husband had a talk.


End file.
